So, you’ve decided to write and drink. A wise choice. Fortunately (or unfortunately), many literary masterminds who have come before you have made similar decisions. Some of our finest masterpieces and lauded classics were crafted into being at the expense of a bar tab or a few bottles of your girlfriend’s Merlot.

Yes, the drink and the pen have had a torrid and brilliant relationship over the years, kind of like when Sylvia Plath bit a chunk out of Ted Hughes’ face whenever she first met him, and the partnership has brought about a similarly iconic amount of work. But before you settle in to write the next great American novel (or finish your Environmental Science essay) and crack open that second PBR, it might help to look to the drinkers and writers of yesteryear for a little bit of guidance. After all, they did it better.

Let’s start with the king of spinning cognac into golden words, the Papa himself, Ernest Hemingway. Now it takes an extraordinary amount of talent, or perhaps just an extraordinary amount of confidence, to achieve the Hemingway drunk. The man who brought us A Farewell to Arms, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and The Sun Also Rises, also had one of most legendary drinking reputations in history. Hemingway thought he was hot sh*t, drunk or sober, and felt the need to remind everyone of it. “I drink to make other people more interesting,” he said, which is a lot kinder than his other quote, “An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.” Hefty words, given that his inner circle included some of the greatest geniuses and artists of his time. If you’re going to get Hemingway drunk, you better know that whatever you’re writing is A+ quality before you even start drinking.

Now, if you’re an F. Scott Fitzgerald, you might care a little too much about what the Hemingways of this world think. But you’re not drinking to write, you’re drinking to find your material. The actual work, hell, you can get to that tomorrow. You’re chasing cocktails with shots of whiskey, maybe you’ve been offered some wine, and just like The Great Gatsby, you’re here for the party. You are the party. After going all out, you’re probably going to write about the party and the characters of your life, all while nursing the green light of your hangover.

On the other hand, if you’re Dorothy Parker, you’ve got no time for the Fitzgeralds and you certainly don’t give a damn about the Hemingways. You’re turning it up in your apartment, probably with a few writer friends, swapping stories while knocking back shots of tequila, but you are all business. You’re not here to just make notes in the margins or procrastinate until morning; you’re drinking for the fuel of your inspiration. “I’m not a writer with a drinking problem, I’m a drinker with a writing problem.”

If you’re going to go for Tennessee Williams quality of drunk writing, I hope you’re prepared to get a little self-revelatory with your material. You’re probably primarily the cool, calm, collected type--you’re not exactly sweating the deadlines over here. But you are probably trying to make a point, tap into some personal experience, and pour your heart out in a way that is both intimate and incredibly professional. You’re drinking mostly to loosen up, not find your inspiration — you’ve got plenty of that to go around — so take it easy after a few Southern Comforts, ya dig?

On the other hand, if Edgar Allen Poe is more up your alley, you’re probably drinking to get over the overwhelming gravity of your inspiration. For a man who ran from many of his real life demons and put much of them into his writing, Poe drank not out of confidence, but rather out of fear. If you’re feeling rather Poe-ish this evening, maybe take a step back and remember that it’s not totally the end of the world. You’ll finish your work, and when you do, then you can drink yourself into oblivion if things don’t turn out. But hope that they do.

If Jack Kerouac is your type of guy, this is probably your last drinking/writing binge before retiring to Big Sur to find God and quit drinking. The king of the beats is almost as famous for his drinking habits as he his for his jazzy, ethereal metaphors, and his golden eternity was no doubt inspired by a few golden ales. “As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind.” You’re drinking to delve into the depths of your own subconscious. Unless you’re writing poetry or about last month’s road trip with your buddies, you might want to go a little easy on the thrift store 40’s.

But maybe you're pulling a Charles Bukowski. Oh, Bukowski. If you’re going for Bukowski levels, cease trying to do any paid or professional writing immediately. Kick back and revel in your own genius…maybe fold your Hollister button-ups and re-watch Fight Club for the eighth time this summer. Deal with real human interaction tomorrow. Or, "find what you love and let it kill you." Your choice. Advil highly recommended.

I hope this guide has been useful to navigating the realm of literary drinking, and inspires many more fruitful and (reasonably) intoxicated evenings to come. Go forth and produce your masterpiece, or at the very least become inspired to write it, and stay thirsty my friends.